I guess when it’s the end of the world, and only a few people and a couple of zombies, sorry, lots of zombies, are left, no one would care about you. No one will know that your name was Julian Buckle, that you were a 17 year old painter, hiker and cancer patient. No one would know that when the virus took over in 2032, (yup, those zombie obsessed weirdos from 2010 were right about the virus) it killed your family and friends, but left everyone who didn’t matter because everyone else either turned into a nightmare or became a survivor, a fighter like you. You expected to be one of the first to get sick, but the chemo that killed your dreamy blond beach boy hair that girls loved, actually killed the virus along with the cancer. You are left alone with no disease and no strength, but if you want to live you have to move, regain your strength so you can survive.
Out there you wander, wander and run from the zombies, who, at first, terrify you and cause your heart to beat wildly. They haunt your dreams with their staggering, drunken walk and their moans. But as you grow stronger, tougher, braver, the zombies just become a thing of everyday life. Hunger becomes part of everyday life, just like the scarcity of running water, food, and decent shelter. Being a hiker before has given you an advantage now, because you already have some survival skills that you can depend on now. You know how to make a fire, which plants you can or can’t eat, and how to make shelter from whatever happens to be lying around. You used to go hunting with your dad, so you know how to set traps, how to use a gun or a bow but now, you have almost no problem taking the life of an animal. Before, seeing the lifeless body of squirrel or rabbit hanging from your trap made you feel sick. But now you know that it means a full belly when you go to sleep, that it is another step away death, from starvation at least.
Its been four months since the virus took over. Much has changed since then. You have changed. Your hair has still not come back, but your body has hardened, become muscular and wiry, your hands have adjusted to the long wooden handle of the axe that is slung across your back. Funny, how that axe has become almost as much a part of your body as your arm. The handle is well worn and shiny from your hands gripping it over the months. You are no longer Julian Buckle. Out here, appearance is almost everything, especially with the other survivors. You can’t show any sign of weakness, or that gets you robbed, or even killed. You want to look tough, but your strong demeanor is broken when you say that your name is Julian. So now you call yourself Silas Black. Everyone has names like that. Ephraim Hardlock, Fern Raphael, Apollo Nixon, Cyrus Emerson. Bible names are popular, the old ones like Isaiah, Solomon, Absalom, Noah, and Obadiah.
Anyway, don’t think that just because you look tough and have a legit name means you really are tough. Well, you are, but inside, when you’re all alone at night, and you wake up shaking and covered in sweat because a nightmare, wishing that your mom were there to comfort you, is that weakness? Every little noise alerts you, sets your heart thumping, tenses your muscles so that they are ready to run, to fight if needed. When you are surrounded by the decaying, swaying bodies of the zombies ready for a meal, is it weakness to just want to scream and run away, because honestly, even though you have hacked your way through more zombie skirmishes then you thought you could ever endure, your knees still shake, your hands still sweat, you still feel you could pass out. There are times when you just want to give up, stop fighting, stop struggling, just stop resisting the urge to throw yourself off a run down building. And, even after all these times, you, Silas Black, still have to bend over and throw up after every killing, retching up the taste of death from your mouth and the thought that the zombies you buried your axe in could have been your neighbors, someone you knew. After all, it wasn’t their fault that they got sick. They didn’t choose to become those monsters. But you have to keep going, get up, clean yourself off and walk on while roughly wiping away tears.
You avoid killing if possible, you prefer to run away and hide. But while the virus is gone, and no more zombies are being made, their numbers aren’t really growing smaller. When the virus came, it killed about a third of the population. Then about two thirds of the people that were left became zombies, making about so that out of every ten people, six were zombies. Its kind of hard to kill off that many zombies.
However, life takes a different turn when you meet Foxx, Cooper and Lissy. Three survivors your age, Riley D. Foxx, Iliana Foxx and their weirdo little sister Lysianassa. Brother and sisters, the first two twins, the three were orphans long before the virus even broke out. Even though they all had different names, the three were fiercely loyal and protective of each other, especially of Lissy, her being smaller and the baby. You were calling the twins by their last names within the week, Lysianassa you nicknamed Lissy, it was easier to say. But it was almost three years before you began to get up the nerve to call that beautiful, katana wielding girl who sometimes made you feel more light headed when she smiled at you then when you disemboweled a zombie, by her first name.
You travel with the Twins, as they’re called, even though there are three of them. Its nice to have company. The sky seems brighter with the Twins, and you begin to stop having nightmares. Instead, you dream about adventures with your friends, and the day you will ask Foxx to watch the sunset with you. But for now, you’re with the Twins.
Cooper is a goofball, always making stupid jokes that are actually really funny. He’s a bit of a nerd, likes to tinker around with chemicals, metals and stuff that goes boom. He’s got this nifty weapon that basically is a long, metal shaft thats sharpened to a point at one end and has a spike tipped ball at the other about the size of an orange. Lissy is a bit weird. She likes to read and get her hands on any books, but she hardly ever talks. She just giggles and bounces around, getting in the way, pointing and screaming, but never talking. Sometimes she will just stare at you, and its really unnerving. But if she ever has too, she can fight really well. Lissy is like a little cat, jumping and stabbing with these little daggers that she keeps strapped to her waist. Everyone out here has some sort of weapon. Its just natural.
Now Foxx, she’s something else. Foxx is calm, pretty, and extremely good at flipping her long dark hair in your face. She is graceful and agile, but jumpy. You would almost never think that she is capable of gently wrapping up a cut while watching her fight zombies. Foxx, when in battle, is a killing machine. She leaps and whirls with her katana, slicing through zombies, and, if its a fight against another survivor, she just whips out her Glock from her belt. Normally, people would think to envy a gun, but not here. Firepower like that doesn’t work on zombies. The bullets just burst through the rotten flesh. You have to have a blade to do serious damage. Everdeen just likes the gun for show mostly. She’s told you that you that she has only shot it three times. She smiles at you a lot, likes to watch while you sharpen your axe, likes to call you Silas, even though everyone else calls you Black.
Life goes on. Slowly, very slowly, the run-ins with zombies grow fewer, more and more survivors are showing up, people who have come out of hiding and are eager to see another face. You don’t have to be as cautious anymore, because people aren’t as desperate. They won’t attack you for the scraps of food in your bag, your clothes and weapons. It’s been five years since the virus ran its course. You are now 22, Lissy is 15, and Riley and Foxx are 21. The four of you live in a small cabin that you built yourselves at the edge of the sea. There is fish to catch, and a small fresh water stream runs out of the forest into the sea, so you have game from the woods and water to drink. You now have a head of short, spiky blond beach boy hair, and your axe is less on your back and more above the fireplace. You call that beautiful, katana wielding girl Iliana because she is now your fiance, and the two of you go down to the shore every night to watch the sunset...
